


Laurent's visit to Ios

by mfingenius



Series: Courting Traditions [3]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, Don't copy to another site, M/M, but it doesn't happen i swear, it's very brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-10 10:43:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19501294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mfingenius/pseuds/mfingenius
Summary: The Regent has escaped from prison and is trying to kill Laurent. In an attempt to protect Laurent, Auguste asks Damen to take him to Ios.It bores very interesting results.





	Laurent's visit to Ios

“How did this happen?” Damianos asks, a small frown on his face.

“There were people helping him from the outside.” Auguste says. He doesn’t like sharing this with Damianos – and not because he doesn’t trust the King of Akielos, but because he doesn’t feel like he can trust anyone lately – but needs must, and he needs Damianos’s help. “We think one of the guards also helped. A man named Govart. He killed the rest of the guards guarding him.”

Aimée, Auguste’s wife, squeezes his thigh gently in support, and he smiles lightly at her.

“When?” Damianos asks. He’s grown even more since Auguste last saw him, in his visit to Arles a year ago, and has become a massive mountain of a man. Though Auguste reserves his fondness for women, if he thinks about it objectively, he thinks he can sort of see the appeal Laurent sees.

“A year ago.” Auguste says. “During your visit.”

Damianos doesn’t seem to think Auguste is accusing him of anything, and really, Auguste isn’t. Not entirely. He knows Damianos would never hurt Laurent – even if he still doesn’t like the idea of them together – and he thinks Damianos too honorable to be working with his uncle. He doesn’t think of All Akielons that way, though.

They’ve been searching relentlessly for the entire year, but his uncle seems to be impossible to find, and Auguste has to accept that Laurent might not be safest here, even if it is with Auguste.

“Gods,” Damianos rubs at his face. He smiles crookedly. “I assume you’re not telling me this as a friend, only.”

Auguste’s smile is twisted and exhausted. He takes a deep breath and speaks, steeling himself for the possibility that Damianos will turn him down. “You’re right. I _am_ telling you as a friend, but I am also telling you as an ally, and the King of Vere. I need you to take Laurent to Ios with you.”

“Of course,” Damianos says, not hesitating for a second. “Has something happened?”

Auguste doesn’t want to continue. He’s exhausted, _furious_ , scared for Laurent, and Aimée, and himself, and immensely relieved that Damianos has agreed to take his baby brother to Ios. He’d also spoken to Aimée of sending her away, of sending her with Damianos, but she had – quite firmly – informed him that she wasn’t going anywhere, and that if he tried to do this alone and got killed for it, she’d never forgive him.

“Prince Laurent has recently been the subject to various assassination attempts for the past year.” Aimée says. Auguste presses a kiss to her palm in gratefulness. She’s five years younger than him, and the daughter of a Veretian bakery owner. King Aleron never would’ve approved of one of his sons – especially Auguste – marrying someone who wasn’t high-born, but he died almost a year ago. “We think his Uncle resents Laurent for discovering what he was trying to do.”

“Assassination attempts.” Damianos repeats. There’s barely-held rage in his voice, and, a little viciously, Auguste thinks, _good_. He needs Damianos to be furious. He needs to know his little brother will be safe. “How?”

“Poison in his food.” Aimée says. She sounds deadly. She’s taken quite a liking to Laurent in the year and a half they’ve known each other. The first one, Auguste was courting her in secret, so they didn’t spend much time together, but in the last six months that they’ve been married, they’ve grown close. “Injuring his horse before a hunting session. Even actual assassins. There was a drug in his drink yesterday, men waiting in his room.”

“Where are they now?” Damianos asks, murderous.

“Dead.” Auguste says. He doesn’t sound particularly sorry for it, and he’s glad, because he isn’t. He’d have killed them himself if Lazar hadn’t done so first. “Lazar noticed there was something odd with Laurent, and he brought him to my rooms instead of his own. He found three men hiding in Laurent’s room with Akielon weapons. The drug used on him was also Akielon.”

“Akielon swords?” Damianos asks. He’s beginning to catch on, it seems. “An Akielon drug?”

Aimée nods. “We think their uncle is trying to get Auguste to go to war with Akielos.”

Damianos curses colorfully in Akielon before switching back to Veretian.

“Where is Laurent?” he asks anxiously. “Is he alright?”

“He is alive,” Auguste says grimly. “Unfortunately, our physician is not familiar with the drug it is. It’s not quite out of his system yet, and it hasn’t killed him, but Paschal would like to make sure it’s not leaving any side-effects. I was hoping you would be familiar with it.”

Damianos nods, and when Auguste says the word in Akielon, Damianos curses again. He seems to debate with himself for a moment, before he finally blurts it out.

“It induces high sexual desire.” He says. Auguste’s fingers tighten on the arms of his throne. He’s displeased, though unsurprised. He assumed, because of the state Laurent came to his rooms in. “It is – it was found a few months ago. Lovers began to use it to spend a long amount of time making love, but it never became entirely popular because of the fact that it also produces memory loss of the time that the person was drugged.”

Auguste’s expression twists into rage for two seconds before he manages to school it back to cold iciness. There are many more Akielon love drugs that are easier to get that do not cause memory loss, and that he thinks that if the men bothered to bring that one, they planned to leave Laurent alive after they were… done with him. He’s not sure that’s any better than killing him.

He doesn’t know what he would do if they had succeeded. No punishment seems hard enough for touching anyone without their consent, and if it had been Laurent… Auguste would’ve torn them to pieces.

“But he is not in immediate danger?” He asks, because he cannot continue down that particular line of thought if he wants to keep his composure.

Damianos considers. “I never heard of any deaths because of the drug.”

Auguste nods. “And how long does it take to wear off?”

“It could be a long time.”

Auguste nods sternly. Then, “Jord. Take Damianos to Lazar.”

Jord nods, and Auguste looks at Damianos.

“Lazar will take you to Laurent, and I want you to get him out of here as soon as you can. Lazar will accompany you.”

If Laurent is still under the effects of the drug, he may be clumsier than usual, unfocused, but he is the best rider in Vere. Auguste believes he is able to get to Akielos, drug or not. He also believes Damianos capable of getting Laurent to Akielos, if, for any reason, Laurent cannot.

“I will sent messengers regularly, and I will continue to search for my uncle.” Auguste says. “I don’t want you to bring Laurent back until I have killed him. And give him this,” he extends a sealed letter to Damianos. “When the drug wears off. It’ll hopefully explain everything that has happened while he was under the influence of it.”

Damianos nods and exits the throne room with Jord, tucking the letter into his belt.

*

Before he can take three steps out of the throne room, Aimée catches up with him.

“Damianos!” she calls. She’s gorgeous, with light brown curls framing her face and breasts, olive skinned, and sharp-eyed. Damen doesn’t think he’s seen many people look at their spouses the way she and Auguste look at each other.

“Yes?” He asks politely.

Though she is much shorter than him – though still taller than Laurent – and only comes up to his shoulder, she has the guts to send him a venomous glare.

“Auguste and Laurent trust you.” She says. “Too much to even consider you as a suspect to this. But I don’t. So I’d like you to know that if _anything_ happens to Laurent while he is in your care and I find out you’ve _anything_ to do with it, your head will be on the block, even if I am the one to do it.”

Though the woman has practically delivered a death threat, Damen feels his respect for her grow.

“Of course,” he says, bowing his head.

She assesses him for a moment, and then lifts her chin. “Keep him safe.”

“I will,” he vows.

Jord leads him to Lazar, stationed outside Laurent’s room. Lazar knocks on the door and waits for the breathy ‘come in’ before he leads him inside. Laurent is in the middle of his bed, curled into a small ball. His knees are pulled up to his chest, chin tucked down into his chest, and his fists are regularly tightening and loosening around the cloth of his laced pants.

Even now, with his cheeks rosy, eyes shut tightly, and hair clinging to his neck and temples with sweat, he is laced into full Veretian clothing, suffocating even while one is not in this state.

“Hello, Laurent,” Damen says softly.

Laurent sits up immediately, looking at Damen, dazed. His pupils are blown.

“Damen,” he breathes.

Damen smiles kindly and sits by him on the bed. Laurent is seventeen now, and though he has not grown much, his face has a sharper quality to it than it did a year ago.

“Laurent,” he greets. Laurent crawls closer to him and hides his face in his chest with an agonized whimper. Damen runs his hands through his sweaty hair and murmurs soothing words.

“I don’t suppose you’ll revisit your decision of not bedding me until I’m twenty?” Laurent asks, muffled, and Damen smiles in despite himself.

“I’m afraid not.” He answers. “I’m here to take you to Ios.”

“ _Now_?” Laurent asks.

“Yes.” Damen says. “As soon as possible. We need to get you to safety.”

“Right,” Laurent doesn’t seem entirely in control of himself, so Damen helps him stand and wraps an arm around his waist to still him when he wobbles.

The way to the stables is slow, mounting even more so. When Damen meets the people who came with him – Nikandros and three guards – at the gate, Nikandros takes one look at Laurent and Lazar, and then rolls his eyes at Damen. Damen ignores him.

Laurent rides with nearly perfect posture, even in the state he’s in, but they go slowly. The drug fades away halfway through the trip, and Damen hands Laurent Auguste’s letter. Laurent reads it quietly, jaw tightening with each passing sentence. Damen doesn’t know what the letter says, and he decides not to ask, because Laurent is looking murderous.

They arrive at the palace at night, and Damen doesn’t tell anyone of Laurent’s arrival. Laurent abhors the idea of slavery, he knows, and he’s brought his own guard, so he is relatively fine. He can send servants to attend him in the baths if necessary, and keep all the slaves out of sight for as long as Laurent stays here.

Though King Theomedes has not died, he’s stepped down from the throne, and is living out his retirement in one of their properties in the Akielon islands. Damen was crowned king of Akielos six months ago, so Damen doesn’t have to explain himself to his father.

And Kastor… well, Kastor has a rather intense dislike for Laurent – Damen doesn’t know why – so he probably won’t ask questions.

He shows Laurent to his room, and hesitates, wondering if he should say something. He decides against it, and goes to close the door.

“Wait,” Laurent says. It’s barely a whisper, but Damen hears it all the same. Laurent clears his throat. “Will you stay here with me tonight?”

Damen hesitates. “Laurent…”

“My uncle escaped from prison.” Laurent says. “And he’s been trying to assassinate me for a _year_. I was drugged and had men expecting to rape me, and I _want you_ to stay with me tonight. Will you?”

Damen still thinks this is a horrible idea, but he takes two steps into the room and closes the door behind him. Laurent lets out a relieved breath. Laurent is undeniably gorgeous; as a child, when Damen met him, he was beautiful in the childish, gentle kind of way that children can be, but now, at seventeen, he has grown into it, beauty so sharp and bright it’s impossible not to notice.

“What side of the bed do you prefer?” Damen asks.

Nikandros will throttle him for this.

“The one closest to the window.” Laurent says. He holds his palm out to Damen. “Attend me.”

Damen should be insulted. No one would ever dare to talk to a King like that, especially not anyone currently at said King’s care. But Laurent’s never been like everyone else, and Damen’s never quite managed to react to him as he would’ve anyone else.

He pulls at the laces on Laurent’s wrist. He takes a few tries to figure them out, but once he does, he unlaces them easily. Laurent extends his other wrist. He unlaces the laces at his wrists, at his neck, the ones at his back. Laurent turns to him and takes the jacket off.

Damen refuses to let his eyes drop from Laurent’s eyes.

“Do you sleep like that?” Laurent asks. He’s wearing a laced white undershirt, thin enough that it’s see-through in the moonlight streaming through the window.

Damen usually sleeps in the nude, but he’s not about to do that with Laurent.

“I will tonight.” He says, instead of answering the question.

Laurent pulls at the laces on his pants, and Damen turns away.

He gets in bed without looking back at Laurent, taking the side Laurent stated he didn’t want. He blows out the lamp by the bedside.

In the dark, he can see Laurent’s silhouette, his long shirt, up to his mid-thighs, his bare legs. He watches him crawl up the bed, and, instead of taking his own side, Laurent crawls over Damen and settles himself against him, head nestling against Damen’s chest.

“ _Laurent_ ,” Damen says, inhaling sharply.

“It’s fine.” Laurent murmurs. “It’s alright.”

*

When Laurent wakes Damen is by his side, a strong arm thrown over his waist. With his head pressed against Damen’s chest, Laurent can hear his slow and steady heartbeat, and it soothes the beat of his own heart, hammering against his chest at Damen’s close proximity.

He knows Damen is a man of his word, and that he will not bed him until he is twenty, but here, like this, Laurent can’t help think of how it could be. Not even the bedding in itself, but a courting. A marriage.

Damen is honest beyond reproach, every emotion painted across his face clearly. Even when Laurent undressed before him the night before, his eyes never left Laurent’s; he’s never looked at him like the courtiers in Arles, and it is such a refreshing change that Laurent knew when he visited the palace a year ago that he was helpless in his crush on him.

He raises a hand to touch Damen’s cheek, softly running a fingertip down it. He wonders if it’d feel the same to wake here, in Ios, as a married couple. If he would do the same, or if he would take more liberties.

“I can practically hear you thinking,” Damen says. He cracks one eye open, and Laurent’s cheeks turn red as he lets his hand drop to his side again. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Laurent clears his throat. He doesn’t want to get away from Damen’s warmth just yet, but it’s Damen who pulls away, stretching. Laurent wants to drag him closer again, and he tightens his fists in the bedding to stop himself.

The expanse of Damen’s back is muscled and defined, and Laurent’s cheeks heat further when he imagines digging his nails into it as they make love. He immediately banishes that thought to the furthest corner of his mind – which has, for about a year now, turned into an exclusively _Damen_ corner – and tries not to think about it, even if he knows he’ll probably end up revisiting those thoughts once he’s alone.

“Do you want to take a bath?” Damen asks. “A servant can attend you.”

“I don’t need help bathing.” Laurent says stiffly. Now that the unreal glow of the first few minutes after waking has faded, everything – his uncle, the assassination attempts, the drug – comes back like a weight in his chest, pressing down and suffocating.

Damen must notice the sudden change, because he turns back to look at Laurent. Laurent tries to keep his expression emotionless – something he’s gotten very good at, at the court – but Damen sees through it, and cups his cheek lightly.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” Damen murmurs. Laurent leans closer to the comforting feeling of Damen’s hand for two seconds before Damen pulls away.

“I trust you,” he says. It’s scary how honest it is; in the court, Laurent learned not to trust anyone other than his family, and even _that_ ended badly with his uncle. The only person he trusts fully is Auguste. Laurent thought he’d be the only person he’d _ever_ trust, until Damen came along.

Laurent remembers him washing the blood off his hands when he was thirteen, knows just how differently the situation could’ve gone if Damen had wanted to use him as a war chip. He could’ve. He should’ve. He didn’t.

Damen smiles softly. “Good. I’ll tell the servants to prepare you a bath. I need to speak something with my guards, and I’ll come get you before breakfast.”

Laurent nods.

Damen leaves, and a few minutes later two servants come in to prepare a warm bath. After they’re done, Laurent undresses – he was only wearing underclothes – and gets into the warm bath, curling into himself and rubbing at his skin with the sponge until it’s red and burning.

No one bothers him. He stays in the bath until it goes cold, and when he gets out and dries himself, he realizes he has no clothes. He knows there’s no taboo about public nudity in Akielos, but Laurent doesn’t think he can bring himself to walk around like this, even if the idea of stunning Damen is appealing.

He calls for the servants to bring him clothes, and shortly finds himself wrapped in gauze, and silks, and satins. The servants work efficiently; they wrap him in them until Laurent is in a chiton, which, in his opinion, is really just a glorified bedsheet. It leaves his legs, arms, shoulders, and collarbones bare, along with a part of his chest. He feels naked.

“I can’t go out in this.” Laurent says. “I look like a – like a – I’m practically naked!”

Lazar shrugs and offers a dirty grin. “I’m sure the Akielons will appreciate it.”

Laurent scowls; he has nothing else to wear, and even if he wanted to get into the clothes he was wearing before, the servants have already taken them away to wash them. It seems like there’s no other option. He sighs and comforts himself in the fact that at least this way the oppressive heat of Akielos isn’t suffocating him.

*

Damen goes to Laurent’s room to get him for breakfast, and when he opens the door, he’s received by what is undoubtably the best sight he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing: Laurent in a chiton.

It’s blue-hemmed but otherwise unadorned, and it leaves a lot of his skin bare. His shoulders, his neck, his legs. His _legs_. Damen can’t seem to bring himself to look away.

“Too short?” Laurent asks, pulling at the hem of the chiton hesitantly.

It snaps Damen out of his daze, and he shakes his head to clear it. He clears his throat.

“Uh, no.” he says.

It _is_ much too short for anyone but Damen to see Laurent in; they don’t deserve the sight that Laurent makes. No one does, Damen thinks. Laurent’s beauty is the kind of beauty poets write about, artists can only hope to achieve in their work, and kingdoms war over.

He’s breathtaking, and Damen wants to keep him to himself.

“Breakfast?” he asks, because he can’t think of something else to say.

Laurent nods hesitantly, and they walk to the dining room, Lazar following close behind.

Damen sees the way other people – guards, servants, different political advisors – eye Laurent, and he wants to make sure they can never get close enough to look at him again, let alone _touch_ him. He reminds himself that it wouldn’t be fair to Laurent, that he himself had told him to bed anyone he wanted as long as they were around his age, and that, even if he hadn’t, who he goes to bed with was entirely his choice and none of Damen’s business.

It doesn’t lessen his jealousy at all.

After they get through breakfast – Kastor, as predicted, didn’t say a word about Laurent’s being there; he mostly ignores him and occasionally glares disdainfully – Damen takes Laurent to the stables.

Laurent blinks at the mare Damen introduces him to, golden brown and shiny, hard-headed and stubborn.

Perfect for Laurent.

When Damen tells him she’s Laurent’s, Laurent’s eyes widen adorably, eyelashes catching in the sunlight and shining lightly. Damen feels immensely pleased at himself for being the one to surprise Laurent like this.

“I – how did you know?” He asks, running a hand down the mare’s neck.

“You mentioned riding when I was in Arles, last year.” Damen says. “The look on your face – it was obviously very important to you. I – hope I’m not overstepping.”

“Overstepping?” Laurent’s cheeks flush, and a small smile begins to spread across his face. “Damen this is – I am – _thank you_.”

Damen’s chest fills with pride, and then his stomach tightens. He hesitates, but pushes himself to speak.

“I was also hoping you would accept it as my first official courting gift.” He says. Laurent’s eyes snap towards him, and his cheeks go scarlet. He blinks. “I didn’t expect it to be so soon. I hoped I would have another year; I had already planned to invite you to Ios when your eighteenth birthday was near, which left perfect timing for Vere’s usual two-year courting period, but you’re here now, and you looked like you needed some cheering up, and I want to-”

Damen stops rambling when Laurent presses his lips firmly to his. Damen’s eyes widen for a second before he pulls Laurent closer, grabbing his waist and pulling him flush against him. He can feel the heat of Laurent’s skin against his, much different from all the times they’ve touched before because of how much more of Laurent’s skin he can feel.

He lets his hands slip down to Laurent’s hips, careful not to touch any exposed skin, and deepens the kiss, tilting his head and cupping Laurent’s jaw with one hand, enjoying the feeling of soft skin beneath his fingertips.

After an unknown amount of time, Laurent pulls away, panting. His cheeks are still scarlet, and he looks dazed, wonderous, and immensely pleased at the same time. He breaks off in a silly grin.

“I would – I love-” Laurent struggles to find the words. “It is an adequate courting gift.”

Damen grins, hand still on Laurent’s hip. He had read many, many books on Veretian courting – Akielos does not have Courting rituals – and knows that just by kissing, they’ve already broken several of the usual courting rules, but he can’t quite bring himself to be sorry about it.

Still, he clears his throat and takes a step back. He offers a grin when Laurent pouts slightly. “Riding?”

*

“I don’t _care_ about the relations with Patras right now.” Auguste tells Guion firmly. “Unless, it’s an emergency, I do not want to hear of it. My priority is catching my Uncle. If you do not have information about that, you are wasting my time.”

Guion turns red, and Aimée pats Auguste’s hand lightly under the table. He takes a deep breath.

“ _Do_ you have information, Councilor Guion?” He asks pointedly.

“No,” Guion says.

Auguste dismisses him with a gesture.

He sighs heavily, and Aimée squeezes his shoulder.

“We’ll find him, darling,” she says. “You know we will.”

“I know,” Auguste says. “It’s just – I worry. About Laurent.”

“Laurent is safe with the Akielons now,” Aimée says firmly. “And your worry does neither of you any good.” There’s a bit of silence, and then she continues. “And you would do well to remember he’s not the only one in danger. You need to be careful, too.”

Though Auguste has not told Laurent, there have been a few attempts on his life; not as many as on Laurent’s, but quite a few, too.

“I know,” he sighs. “It’s just – I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to find him. Everyone he knew seems to know nothing about him.”

Aimée hesitates, but she’s never one to not speak her mind. “Have you considered that maybe not everyone is telling the truth?”

Auguste frowns lightly. “I’m their king. They’ve sworn fealty.”

“Your Uncle swore fealty to your father’s reign.” Aimée points out.

Auguste sighs, displeased. He doesn’t like thinking any of his councilmen or courtiers might be lying, but it is true that he has not the best senses when it comes to deceive. Laurent has had to point it out to him various times, and Aimée is also very good at noticing it.

“Who do you think might be lying?” he asks.

Aimée smiles grimly.

*

The time Laurent spends in Ios is much, _much_ better than he expected. He spends his day either watching Kastor – because he is _sure_ he’s planning something – or with Damen. His time with Damen is spent kissing, mostly, and Laurent enjoys it more than he’s ever enjoyed anything else in his life.

Damen kisses him like he speaks to him; gently, full of love, and respect, and wanting. Though Laurent could never see the appeal before, he can see it with Damen. He feels dazed, addicted; Damen’s lips are everything Laurent’s ever wanted, and he feels helpless to the way Damen makes him melt.

It is traditional in Veretian courting that the two people only see each other with chaperones, and that they do not kiss or touch each other inappropriately at any point during their courting, but Laurent can’t bring himself to care about it.

Damen always reminds him it’s inappropriate and that they shouldn’t, but Laurent always makes him forget by pulling him closer.

He, however, doesn’t budge on spending the night together. No matter what Laurent does or tries, Damen always pulls away and wishes him good night before leaving, even if it is evident to Laurent that he is aroused. It leaves Laurent fantasizing most of the night about what it will be like – feel like – when they are finally together, without Damen’s idiotic want to stop himself.

Anytime Damen’s hand brushes his waist, or his hips – and no lower, because Damen also draw the line there – or literally _any_ part of Laurent’s body, he goes red and feels like a blushing virgin.

He thought himself above this.

“I’m going to be stuck in meetings all day,” Damen says, brushing his lips against Laurent’s knuckles in apology. Laurent’s cheeks darken, and Nikandros – staying at the palace – rolls his eyes and gags. “But we can do whatever you want tomorrow.”

Laurent hums – he sees the way Kastor looks at Damen, getting more and more openly disdainful and disrespectful every day – and sees his opportunity.

“I want to see the city today.” He says.

Damen frowns lightly. “Today? If we go tomorrow, I can show you around. We can make a day of it, eat on the beach, go to the docks.”

It sounds amazing, but Laurent can’t let himself be distracted of this; Damen seems to be blind to Kastor’s looks and intentions, and he doesn’t want to say anything of it before he can prove to Damen that he’s right. He realizes that if he does this and he’s wrong, Damen could break off their courting.

The idea terrifies him, but the idea of Kastor doing something – like poisoning Damen – that will cause Damen’s death terrifies him more. Even if they’re no longer together and Damen despises him, knowing he’s alive will feel better than knowing Damen died loving him.

“No, I’m sure you’ve seen the city many times,” he assures. “I’ll spend the morning there. I’m sure I can find my way.”

Damen’s frown deepens, but he nods. “Alright. I’ll have a servant accompany you-”

“No need,” Another voice cuts in silkily. Laurent looks over to Lady Jokaste, who only just arrived the day before. Laurent has already seen her with Kastor in various occasions, and he is convinced that if Kastor is planning something, she’s in on it. “I can accompany him, Exalted.”

“Alright,” Damen nods agreeably.

Laurent curses in his head.

“That’s really not necessary, Lady Jokaste,” he says. He doesn’t like the way she’s looking at him; she most certainly knows he doesn’t plan to go into the city. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“Nonsense,” Jokaste waves a hand. “I have been meaning to see Ios myself. I think an evening together would do us good. We have a _lot_ to talk about, Prince Laurent.”

Nikandros doesn’t like the tone of Jokaste’s voice anymore than Laurent does, if his face is any indication, but Damen doesn’t seem to notice. He merely thanks Jokaste and appoints him four guards apart from Lazar – he has been a little overprotective because of the assassination attempts against Laurent – and Laurent tries to think of a way to get around this.

Jokaste is too smart for him to trick into leaving him alone, and though he thinks he’ll be able to slip away from her, he doesn’t want to rise suspicion if he can help it. Before he can come up with a plan, however, Damen and Nikandros are being pulled away by one of the Patran councilmen – currently visiting – and Kastor excuses himself, leaving Laurent and Jokaste alone. As soon as he leaves the throne room, Laurent stands and signals for Lazar to follow him. He hopes Jokaste won’t say anything, but she cuts him off on his way to the door, standing in front of him with crossed arms and a flirty smile.

“Where are you going?” she asks, blinking innocently down at him. “Aren’t we going to tour the city?”

She’s taller than Laurent, and curvier, but otherwise they could be twinned, and not only in looks; he suspects that she thinks very similarly to himself, and it both comforts him and inconveniences him. He looks warily at the Akielon guards around them. He doesn’t know if any of them could be allegiant to Kastor. He doesn’t know if _Jokaste_ is truly allegiant to Kastor or only doing this out of convenience.

“Of course,” he says forcibly.

She smiles venomously, and links her arm through his, leading him through the palace halls. Laurent can hear Lazar and the other guards behind him, and he looks at Jokaste discreetly. Because she thinks like himself, he knows he can get her to work with him, given the right incentive, and to tell him everything she knows – and she knows something, Laurent is certain – but he can’t talk to her in front of the Akielon guards.

“Before we leave the palace,” He says. He turns to the Akielon guards, and bats his eyelashes at them prettily. “Could you get me another chiton from my room? I want to go swimming, and I’d rather not walk around wet all day.” He lowers his voice and blushes slightly – real, because he can’t believe he’s being so shameless, but fitting to his ruse. “I haven’t figured out the pins yet. Whichever one of you that finds it could help me put it on.”

The guards are gone before he’s even finished, and he sees Lazar grin from the corner of his eye. He turns to Jokaste, and she’s wearing a pleased, impressed look on her face.

“Swimming, is that what you want to do?” she says.

“Let’s walk,” he says, instead of answering.

They walk through the gardens, and when Laurent is sure they’re not being followed by anyone but Lazar, he speaks.

“I know Kastor is planning something,” He says bluntly. Jokaste doesn’t tense, but something flashes in her eyes. “And I know you know about it. I also know the spacey, clueless thing is an act. You’re doing this because when you’re queen, courtiers will be forced to take you seriously and treat you like a queen, instead of just a pretty face.”

Jokaste’s lips quirk, no humor reaching her eyes.

“Speaking from experience, kitten?” She taunts. Laurent doesn’t rise to the bait, even if he loathes the nickname.

“I can offer you better.” He says.

“Better than queen?” Jokaste smiles drily.

“Better than treated like a thing.” Laurent responds. “Better than having to bed Kastor. Better than courtiers grabbing your waist and propositioning you while drunk at political dinners.”

He knows, from experience, how that feels. The first time it happened he’d been fourteen and terrified when one of the courtiers wouldn’t let go of his grip on Laurent’s ass until Auguste intervened. He remembers the shame of it, afterwards.

Jokaste’s smile fades, and Laurent knows he’s in the right path.

“You can be terrifying.” Laurent says. “ _Openly_ terrifying. No more flirting, no more teasing, no more underhanded manipulation.”

There’s silence.

“What are you offering?” Jokaste asks finally.

“A place in the council.” Laurent says. “Whether it’s Damen’s, or Auguste’s. I can get you into either. No one will ever say anything to your face again.”

Laurent knows nothing short of councilman or King would achieve that kind of power; even as a prince, he’s had to deal with courtiers openly propositioning him and grabbing him – though that diminished after Auguste had a courtier publicly flogged for trying to rape Laurent – and though he knows the way other people talk about him isn’t something he can control, at least he can earn enough respect for people not to say it to his face. And he knows Jokaste longs for the same thing.

Jokaste looks at him for a long while.

“Alright, kitten.” She says finally. “But no one here has our coloring, and I’ll bet the guards are looking for us by now. We will need to use a disguise.”

Laurent most definitely doesn’t like the disguise, but he agrees that it’s the best option; they dress up as servants. Instead of the silky, expensive silks of their clothes, they take clothes from the servants’ quarters, putting on identical floor-length, linen chitons and sandals, the usual outfit for the servants. They also use linen scarves to cover up blonde, shiny hair, effectively hiding their most distinctive feature.

“Good,” Jokaste says, giving Laurent and herself a last once-over. “We’re ready.”

They find out from the servants where Kastor is – the servants know _everything_ , and they don’t recognize neither Laurent nor Jokaste – and find him quickly, trailing around him quietly.

Because Kastor is both a royal and extremely arrogant, he doesn’t even notice the servants, which makes it easy for them to follow him around. Lazar is harder to hide. He’s still dressed as a guard, and his hand is on his sword the entire time; Laurent can tell he doesn’t trust Kastor anymore than Laurent does. Possibly even less, which makes Laurent even more weary; Lazar is good at reading people, and his instincts are trustworthy.

Kastor’s day is… boring. Up until high noon, the only thing he does is walk around and meet with different people – mostly councilmen, some political figures Laurent doesn’t recognize – and doesn’t speak of anything suspicious. Until lunch. Instead of going towards the kitchens or ordering it brought to his room, he gets on a horse and rides out of the palace. Thankfully, he’s going slowly enough that Jokaste, Laurent, and Lazar can follow on foot.

Kastor leaves his horse tied outside of a small, seedy house, and Jokaste and Laurent stop outside. Kastor is only there for a few minutes, and then he heads back to the Palace. Laurent, Jokaste, and Lazar go inside.

“The man who was just in here,” Laurent tells the woman who greets them. “Does he come here often?”

“Yes,” The woman responds. She doesn’t say more, and Jokaste rolls her eyes and presses a silver coin into her hand. “He’ll be here at six again. Meeting with a man.”

Laurent frowns lightly, looking around. He can’t quite figure out what sort of place this is; there’s a small lounge, and drinks behind a bar, but there are no servers. There are people walking around in very little clothes, though, and it only takes a few seconds for it to click.

It seems Jokaste realizes it at the same time, because she sighs, long and deep. She pinches the bridge of her nose.

“How much do you want to pretend we work here for tonight?” Laurent asks. “You’ll need to provide appropriate clothes.”

The woman assesses them critically.

*

At six, Kastor comes back. Jokaste doesn’t know if she’s done the right thing, saddling herself with the Veretian hell-kitten, but she thinks she has; she’s tired of the staring, of the lewd comments, of the courtiers arrogantly assuming that she’s stupid because she’s pretty.

As if one can’t be both.

Most of all, she’s tired of deceiving men they’re the ones holding all the cards, as if she’s not the one pulling every string; it’ll be refreshing not to pretend to be less powerful than she is, less intelligent. It’s everything she’s wanted, with the addition of not having to bed anyone to get there.

Damianos is too smitten with Prince Laurent to even think of bringing her to his bed, King Auguste has a wife, and Jokaste is certain Laurent holds no attraction towards women.

As it is, they’re standing near at the bar, dressed in what can barely be called _clothing_. She’s wearing a gauzy, purple see-through chiton adorned with jewels at the hem. Her legs and back are decorated with paint, and her blonde hair, along with the lower half of her face, is hidden from view by a purple scarf.

Laurent is in a similar attire, only that his chiton is blue. The scarf is also blue, hiding his hair and the lower half of his face. He’s painted similar to her. Jokaste thinks that if he wanted to, he could pass for a woman easily. It could come in handy sometime.

She’s peeling an orange with a sharp knife and looking around the dark establishment; Kastor is sitting on one of the tables in the corner, tapping his foot impatiently, evidently waiting for someone. Though various women have gone up to him to offer their services, he’s merely waved them away impatiently.

“Hey, sweetheart.” A drunk man slurs, grabbing onto Laurent’s hip, pulling him close. “Want me to show you a good time?”

Jokaste’s lip curls under her scarf; the man is in his mid-fifties, and Laurent is only seventeen. She wants to slam his head against the bar for it.

“I’m off duty tonight,” Laurent says coldly, elbowing the man away.

“C’mon,” The man insists. His grip on Laurent’s hip tightens until Laurent’s face turns white, whether in pain or fear, she doesn’t know. Jokaste’s eyes narrow. She places the orange she’d been peeling on the bar, and presses the against the man’s crotch hard enough to make him blanch.

It’s less than he deserves.

“He said no.” She says coldly. “And you can walk away now, or you can limp away after I put this knife through your thigh. Whatever you choose.”

“Bitch,” The man mutters, walking away with a scowl.

“Thank you,” Laurent says shakily. His guard, sitting on the table in front of Kastor’s, his back to the bastard prince, had already been reaching for his sword, but he sits back down when the man leaves.

Jokaste hums. She remembers being seventeen, already used to the comments, and the looks, and the unwanted touches, but not yet accustomed enough to twist them around to use them for her advantage.

“Look,” she says, jerking her chin towards the door, where a man has just come in and waved the prostitutes away, scanning around the room until his eyes find Kastor and he walks over. “He’s here.”

Laurent turns and stops breathing.

*

He hasn’t changed; the blue eyes, the short hair, the beard. All of it is the same, as cold and calculated as Laurent remembers. His uncle doesn’t look at him – which is a relief, because Laurent doesn’t think he could school his expression right now – as he sits opposite to Kastor, back-to-back with Lazar.

Jokaste’s hand is on his wrist then, grounding, and he turns his back to them again.

“You know him.” She observes.

“I do not want to talk about it,” he says sharply.

Jokaste doesn’t press. She observes Kastor and Laurent’s uncle for a few seconds.

“I cannot hear them from here.” She says. “We have to get closer.”

That’s the last thing Laurent wants to do, but he nods. If they can sit with Lazar without being too suspicious about it, they can listen to what they’re saying.

“One of us will have to pretend to be interested in your guard.” Jokaste says. “He looks odd all alone, and we cannot sit with him without offering our services.”

Laurent purses his lips. “Kastor is more likely to recognize you than me. You can sit in front of Lazar, and I’ll sit in his lap. He won’t be able to see you that way.”

Jokaste nods, and they walk over to where Lazar is. Lazar looks up at Laurent with a cocked eyebrow, and Laurent shakes his head slightly before he straddles him. Lazar’s eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up. Jokaste slides into the seat across from them.

He opens his mouth, and Laurent squeezes his shoulders to stop him.

“Interested, handsome?” he purrs in Akielon, praying Lazar will understand the plan. “I’ll let you do anything you want for the right price.”

Lazar seems to be physically disgusted by the idea of fucking Laurent – Laurent knew he would be; he’s been Laurent’s guard since Laurent was thirteen, and he doesn’t think he can ever see him as anything more than a child – but he places his hands on Laurent’s ribs carefully, wincing.

“Of course,” he says. “How much?”

Laurent names what he deems an agreeable price.

“For a little extra, you can fuck us both.” Jokaste purrs. She and Lazar keep up the conversation while Laurent strains to listen to Kastor and his uncle.

“Are you sure no one will understand?” His uncle demands in Veretian.

Kastor rolls his eyes. “No one in an Akielon brothel is going to speak Veretian.”

Laurent’s uncle exhales.

“How is the plan going?” He asks.

“My half-brother is fucking your nephew.” Kastor says crudely. Laurent, immaturely, wants to correct him. He doesn’t. “They’re trying to hide it, but Damen cannot lie to save his life. I’ll put Satyrion in the wine tonight. It’s similar to Chalis. They’ll retire to their rooms, and three guards will take care of them. Their bodies will be left at sea. I’ll ascend to the throne, and you’ll only have the older one and his wife to take care of.”

Laurent’s uncle waves that away. “When Auguste is grieving Laurent, he’ll be the most vulnerable. I won’t have to do much. Laurent’s always been pathetically close to his brother, and Auguste is too naïve without him.”

Laurent’s cheeks flush in anger. _As if you’ve any right to talk_ , he thinks, _willing to kill your own family for the throne._

“Tell your guards they can have their way with my nephew before they kill him.” His uncle says. Laurent’s heart is hammering against his chest, and he feels Lazar’s hands tense on his ribs, and he squeezes, a silent reassurance _._

“I won’t let that happen,” he murmurs in his ear before going back to his conversation with Jokaste.

“If it weren’t for him, everything would’ve gone according to my plan. I want him to suffer.” Though it isn’t good that Laurent’s uncle has a personal vendetta against him, he feels oddly proud of himself, satisfied.

_That’s right_ , he thinks triumphantly. _I’m the reason you went to jail._ I _made sure you couldn’t kill Auguste._

“I’ll pass along the message,” Kastor says. They discuss a few more things – Laurent can’t listen past his heart beating in his ears, but he trusts Jokaste and Lazar to inform him later – and then Laurent’s uncle leaves.

It is still early enough that Kastor can take his time – he calls over one of the girls – and still make it in time for the feast for the Patrans. As soon as he disappears up the stairs, Lazar, Jokaste, and Laurent all head back to the palace. They have to be dressed and ready before Kastor gets there, and they need to pretend they’ve been in the streets of Ios the whole day.

They walk silently back to the palace.

*

“Thank you for coming, Loyse.” Auguste says. He waits for one of the servants to pour Loyse’s tea.

“Thank you for inviting me, your majesty.” Loyse bows her head lightly.

Aimée sips her tea quietly, assessing Loyse with a critical look. She thinks Guion is working with Auguste’s uncle, but that they can convince Loyse to tell them the truth. They have to be careful, though, because if Aimée is wrong and they reveal too much, she could tell Guion, and Guion could warn Uncle.

“I would love for this to be only a social meeting, but I’m afraid it’s not.” Auguste begins. “I want to talk about my uncle.”

Loyse sips her tea and then leaves it on the table. She looks grim, but determined. It’s a look Auguste has seen often on people who are about to do something they don’t like but deem necessary. It’s a feeling Auguste respects.

“I assumed as much,” she says. “What do you want to know?”

“I – do you know where he is?” Auguste asks.

Loyse shakes her head.

“But you’ve been in contact.” Aimée says mildly, not bothering to phrase it as a question.

Loyse shakes her head again. “I haven’t.”

“But your husband?” Auguste guesses.

Loyse nods. “He’s promised many things, your Majesty. Guion believes him honest.”

“And you?” Aimée asks.

Loyse shakes her head, features tightening. “I swore my fealty to the crown. One is nothing if they cannot be trusted and I am not a traitor. And the Regent…” she shakes her head and her shoulders draw closer to her body. “He’s a bad man, he – he cannot be trusted.”

Aimée nods and speaks gently. “We want to find him, Loyse. And punish him for his crimes. For treason.”

Loyse laughs without any humor. “I’m afraid it’s a much longer list than that, your Majesty.”

“What do you mean?” Auguste says.

“Well, his… tastes.” Loyse says, as if that clears anything up.

“His tastes?” Auguste repeats. “Does he have bastards?”

Loyse frowns at him like he’s being clueless on purpose. “No. His _tastes_.”

“Loyse, we do not know what you’re speaking of.” Aimée says. “Will you be clearer?”

A flicker of doubt crosses Loyse’s expression. “Hasn’t Prince Laurent – perhaps I shouldn’t speak of this.”

“What does Laurent have to do with this?” Auguste demands. His stomach is pooling with dread, and he needs to know what Loyse is speaking of _now_.

“He was a very pretty child,” Loyse says. “I thought – I always assumed – if he hasn’t said anything-”

“Loyse, speak.” Aimée demands, no longer the gentle, sweet demeanor she uses to lure people into a false sense of security. She cares for Laurent, and the expression on her face is troubled, as if she already understands something Auguste is missing. “Now.”

Loyse tells them everything.

*

Laurent is already in a chiton and in the dining room, speaking to Jokaste, when Damen enters. He smiles blindingly and immediately walks over to him, ignoring the prostrated slaves and servants, and the bowed courtiers, murmuring ‘Exalted’.

He takes Laurent softly by the hand and presses a lingering kiss to his knuckles.

“Prince Laurent,” he says playfully. He then, tips his head slightly to Jokaste. “Lady Jokaste.”

“Exalted,” Laurent smiles, bowing lightly. Damen’s eyes darken, and Laurent stores the information away for later.

Damen rubs his nose lightly against Laurent’s temple. _Damen cannot lie to save his life._

“I missed you today,” he murmurs against his ear.

Laurent’s smile is slightly forced, and Damen notices; he frowns. Laurent gets on his toes and, with the excuse of righting one of Damen’s curls, leans in a little closer.

“Don’t drink the wine tonight,” he breathes, lips barely moving. Damen’s frown deepens, and he opens his mouth to ask a question. Laurent shakes his head. “Trust me.”

Damen nods without hesitation.

Laurent smiles graciously and pulls away; as much as he hates his Uncle and the underhanded tactics he uses – using Auguste’s grief – if it means his brother is safe for a little bit more, he’s thankful for it. It means that right now, he only needs to concentrate on saving both Damen and himself.

Kastor comes in, and Jokaste walks over to him – Laurent and her agreed not to be seen together by him, and that she’d continue to pretend she was with him – and one of the Patrans begins speaking to Damen. Laurent is staring at him so intently – the dimple on his cheek, the shiny smile – that he almost doesn’t notice someone else coming up beside him.

“You may be fooling him, but you’re not fooling me.” For a moment, panicked, Laurent thinks it’s Kastor; when he turns, however, it’s only Nikandros. He’s narrowed his eyes at Laurent. “I know you’ve your own plans and priorities, and Damen is too blinded by your beauty to see it. I’m not.”

Laurent’s jaw tightens. “Damen doesn’t care about my beauty. And anything I might be planning isn’t to harm him.”

Nikandros looks surprised that Laurent has just admitted he has his own plans, for a moment, before he recovers.

“Right.” He says, looking Laurent up and down. “Because blonde and blue-eyed isn’t his type at all.” Laurent feels a flicker of insecurity, and hides it well. “What are you planning, then? If you mean no harm, surely you can tell me.”

Laurent throws him a disdainful look. “Yes. Because I trust _you_ so much.”

“But you trust Lady Jokaste?” Nikandros asks.

“I do not trust her,” Laurent says, because he doesn’t. “We share a common interest.”

“Bedding the princes for power?” Nikandros cocks an eyebrow.

Laurent smiles humorlessly. “Believe me, Kyros Nikandros, I don’t need to be in Damen’s bed to have as much power as I do.”

Nikandros seems to search his expression, and he straightens, taking a sip of his goblet. Laurent knows that whatever it is this was – foreplay, banter, whatever – is over, and Nikandros wants to talk about something real.

“I do not trust Kastor,” he says, lowly, and Laurent tries not to look surprised. He doesn’t think anyone in Arles would ever speak openly of their distrust of each other, even if they all know it’s there. “And I do not trust you. If you are working for him-”

“I wouldn’t,” Laurent snaps. He wouldn’t do that to Damen, to himself. He’d never put himself in his uncle’s reach again. He takes a deep breath. “And believe me, I do not trust you either. But I believe you are loyal to Damianos. And I need your help.”

Nikandros looks surprised.

“Your most loyal guards.” Laurent says. “The ones who would never commit treason. Do you have any?”

Nikandros nods. “But I’m going to need an explanation.”

Laurent explains everything in a low voice, and, by the end, Nikandros’s face is tight, but he’s agreed to work with Laurent. Nikandros leaves to begin gathering the guards, and Laurent looks around the room for Damen.

“Prince Laurent,” This time it _is_ Kastor, and Laurent nearly flinches. If he hadn’t grown up surrounded by courtiers who made their entertainment out of getting reactions out of Laurent, he would’ve. As it is, he merely nods politely.

“Prince Kastor,” he says.

“Having a good time?” Kastor asks. He offers Laurent a goblet full of wine – he’s carrying two in his hands – and Laurent takes it, dread filling his stomach.

“Of course,” Laurent says. “And you?”

“Yes,” Kastor says. He signals to the goblet. “I do not know if you drink wine, I am sorry.”

Laurent doesn’t; he doesn’t drink at all if he can help it. However, he needs to convince Kastor that he doesn’t suspect anything, and so he takes a sip of the wine.

“Did you have a good time today in the city?” Kastor asks, eyeing Laurent’s goblet discreetly. “Lady Jokaste told me you went swimming.”

Laurent takes another sip of wine, hoping that if he begins drinking it, Kastor will leave him alone before he finishes the goblet.

“Yes,” Jokaste cuts in. She looks beautiful in the silks and pale colors of the chiton she’s wearing, and Laurent thinks that she is exactly Damen’s type. It’s not as if he hadn’t heard of Damen’s reputation, of course he had. But Nikandros bringing it up wedged a little bit of doubt in Laurent, wondering if Damen wants to court him because he likes _him_ or because he only finds him pretty. He pushes the thoughts away for now. “We did.”

The wine – or the drug – is already making Laurent light-headed. Jokaste is eyeing the goblet with disgust, and she looks at Laurent worriedly. He shakes his head slightly, trying to clear it.

“I – yes.” He echoes. “I insisted. We don’t have seas like this in Arles.”

“I’m sure your country has other charms.” Kastor says, watching intently as Laurent drinks the last of the wine. He feels like he might vomit when Kastor smiles, satisfied. “I apologize. I must go speak to the Patrans.”

“Of course,” Laurent says.

Jokaste leaves with Kastor. She squeezes Laurent’s wrist discreetly before they leave, and Laurent resumes his search for Damen. Kastor had said it was similar to Chalis, and Laurent’s never used chalis, and if this is what it feels like, he never wants to. His head is spinning, and his limbs feel heavy.

It doesn’t feel like the drug he was given in Arles, either. It feels much stronger somehow; it doesn’t leave him with a clearer head, but it lets him move more, doesn’t make him feel like he’s drowning.

His knees buckle, and Lazar’s hand is on his arm tightly.

“I’m fine.” Laurent says as Lazar eyes him warily. Though he’d heard Laurent’s uncle and Kastor, and knows what was in the wine Kastor gave him, it doesn’t make him any calmer. “You – where’s Damen?”

The arousal is there, too, but it pales with the amount of fear and disgust Laurent feels; for all that he has wanted Damen to bed him, if he offered now, Laurent would say no. He doesn’t like the feeling of this, it’s too much, too unnatural. It isn’t slow and pooling, how Laurent likes it, but coursing through his body like ice, cold and burning at the same time.

“I can take you to him,” Lazar says. He eyes Laurent’s legs. “Can you walk?”

Laurent nods. Lazar lets go of his arm carefully, and Laurent steadies himself for a moment, before following Lazar through the room, trusting him to get him to Damen safe.

*

“Laurent?” Damen asks, catching his waist. He cups Laurent’s jaw. “Are you alright?”

His pupils are blown, and his cheeks are red, feverish. He looks like he did in Arles. Drugged.

“I need you to come with me.” Laurent says.

He tugs at his hand until they’re in the hall, and Damen frowns when Laurent begins leading him to his bedroom.

“Laurent, what are you doing? Did someone give you something? Are you alright?” His mind is racing with all the possibilities.

“Yes,” Laurent says. Once they’re in the safety of his bedroom, he closes the door; Lazar, unlike usual, comes in with them, instead of stationing himself outside the door. “There was something in the wine. Kastor put it there.”

Damen opens his mouth to ask, but Laurent shakes his head. He looks like he’s barely holding himself together, but he continues.

“Jokaste and I didn’t go to Ios. Well, we did, but only to follow Kastor. I didn’t want you to come with me because I didn’t want to say anything about it if I was wrong, but I’m not. He met with my uncle at a brothel. They’re working together. Kastor wants your throne.”

Damen doesn’t respond. He sits on the bed, mind racing, and Laurent drops to his knees in front of him, placing his hands on his knees. It seems like the effort of holding himself up is too much; he doesn’t know if it _was_ Kastor or someone else but the fact is that the man he loves is on his knees because he can’t stand because of a drug he did not consent to taking.

“I need you to believe me Damen,” he says. “Because I am in no shape to properly fight right now and there are guards coming to kill us at any moment. _Kastor’s_ guards.”

“How did this – how did you-”

“I’ve spoken already to Nikandros.” Laurent continues. “He’ll make sure Kastor can’t escape, and he’s sent guards into Ios to find my uncle. He’ll send guards here, but we’ll need to hold off Kastor’s guards for as long as it takes them to arrive.”

Damen knows there is only one option; trusting Laurent. He cannot risk being wrong about this, and he cannot endanger Laurent because of his own loyalty. He nods, and Laurent exhales, relieved.

Damen grabs him by the waist and picks him up, steadying him on his feet.

“Can you fight at all?” he asks.

Laurent nods, and Damen hands him a dagger. He knows Laurent always carries his own under his clothes, but it makes him feel better. Laurent grips it tight, and Lazar draws his sword.

“Alright,” Damen says.

*

Fighting several trained guards while aroused is an experience Laurent never wishes to live through again. It is, admittedly, interesting enough to not be something he _regrets_ , per se, but it is not something he’ll ever repeat.

He’d heard of Damen’s superior skills with a sword, but seeing fighting him with his own two eyes is something else entirely. He’s as good as Auguste is, and, up until now, Laurent believed there to be no equal swordsman to Auguste.

It is humorous, until one of the guards, face covered by a dark hood, manages to sink a knife into Laurent’s thigh. The choked gasp that leaves his mouth immediately draws Damen’s attention. The rest of the guards are dead, but the only one left is now holding Laurent by the arm, sword against his throat.

“Don’t come any closer, either of you.” The guard says. “Or he dies.”

Lazar’s grip on his sword shifts, and Damen’s every muscle is coiled tight. Laurent knows that, of the two of them, he is the snake, but right then Damen looks similar to a python ready to strike.

It doesn’t make sense; the guard is making no move to leave; he’s only looking at the door like he’s expecting something, someone. The drug and the blood loss make it hard for Laurent to think, and he doesn’t realize what’s going to happen until it does; Laurent’s uncle walks in, escorted by two Akielon guards.

“Hello, nephew,” he says pleasantly. “I’ve gone through quite a lot of trouble to get you like this. You seem to keep getting away.”

“It’s because I’ve always been smarter than you have.” Laurent spits, even if it’s not true. He remembers being a child; he remembers how everything his uncle did was always part of something bigger, how Laurent never quite managed to connect the dots. It was infuriating.

He’s not a child anymore.

“Were you?” His uncle turns to Lazar and Damen, both looking murderous. “Tie up the brute. His brother wants to kill him himself.” He addresses Damen directly. “You struggle and Laurent dies.” Then his uncle looks at Lazar. Laurent knows that in his eyes, Lazar will be expendable; he’s just a guard, meaningless to this years-long chess game. Laurent can’t let him kill him. He’s scrambling for something to say, when his uncle says, “Restrain him, too. He can watch.”

Laurent’s stomach fills with dread. Lazar spits directly in his uncle’s face, for which he receives a fist to the stomach. Even in pain, he looks like he enjoys the Regent wiping his face, glaring furiously.

“Are you smarter than me, then, Laurent?” His uncle asks, turning to him. “I hardly see it, considering the situation you’re in.”

He waves a hand around the room.

Laurent can only hope that Nikandros has Kastor, so that, even if something happens here, Kastor will pay for his crimes.

“I ruined you when I was thirteen.” Laurent says. His uncle’s face hardens. “ _I’m_ the reason you have _nothing_. Do you think I won’t do it again?”

It’s certainly said with much more confidence than he has.

“It was a foolish mistake on my part, when you were thirteen.” His uncle informs him coldly. “I assumed my guard would be able to take care of it. I won’t make that mistake again.”

He grabs the dagger Laurent had dropped when the guard had stabbed him in the thigh. He presses the tip of it to Laurent’s stomach, and pushes.

It doesn’t get far – there’s only a shallow cut, and then the Regent is gasping, stilling. His body drops the ground, a long knife buried in his chest. It’s golden, with a starburst at the hilt.

“Auguste!” Laurent says, surprised.

The guard holding his arm – their grip had been getting tighter and tighter as Laurent became unable to hold his own weight – immediately walks him to the bed, sets him down.

“Fuck, Laurent, you’re bleeding,” the hood falls away, and Laurent recognizes Aimée.

“ _Aimée?”_ Laurent asks, shocked. Damen’s ties are cut away by the two guards – Pallas and Lydos, Nikandros says as he begins his explanation – and he doesn’t bother to listen to Nikandros. He immediately rushes over to Laurent. “You _stabbed_ me.”

Aimée grins up at him lightly from where she’s washing his wound. “It was the only way to subdue you at the moment. I couldn’t very well reveal myself yet.”

She orders for one of the Veretian guards that came with them to go for Paschal, and the guard runs out of the room.

Laurent blinks, mind slower than usual. “And – and – what?”

“Guion was a traitor.” Auguste says sourly, watching as his wife, his queen, cleans Laurent’s wound, before ripping at Damen’s chiton to wrap the cloth around Laurent’s thigh. “We spoke to his wife Loyse, and she told us – everything. We rushed over as soon as we could.”

“I found them outside the palace, when I was ordering guards to the city.” Nikandros says. “Laurent and I spoke during dinner. Jokaste made sure a few of Kastor’s guards were… _missing,_ so it was easy to sneak in a few of our guards with them.” He gestures to the guards who had tied Damen and Lazar. “Those are Pallas and Lydos.”

Pallas is entirely red in the face. “Exalted, I am _so_ sorry. I didn’t – I would never – I – am sorry.”

Laurent sees Lazar eyeing Pallas with a grin and great interest, and rolls his eyes fondly. Lazar is incorrigible.

“And Kastor?” Damen asks grimly. He is kneeling next to Aimée, giving her space to work, hand on Laurent’s ankle, gripping him tight as though he is afraid he will disappear.

“Dead.” Nikandros says. He doesn’t sound too sad about the fact.

Aimée stands, declaring that the improvised bandage will do until they can get a Physician, and Auguste immediately hugs him, gripping him tight.

“Fuck, Laurent, I thought I lost you,” he murmurs.

Laurent grins lightly. “You could never.”

The moment Auguste lets him go, Damen is grabbing him desperately, pulling him close to his chest and engulfing him completely.

“I love you,” he whispers. “Don’t _ever_ – just – _don’t_.”

Nikandros clears his throat pointedly and Damen pulls away reluctantly, leaving one arm around Laurent’s waist. Auguste looks pained.

“I assume you two are something of an item now, then?” He asks.

Laurent turns red and nods. “He’s – courting me.”

Auguste cocks an eyebrow. “I thought Akielons didn’t do courtships.”

“We don’t,” Damen says. “But Laurent _is_ Veretian. I thought it proper.”

Auguste gives a tiny nod, which is, Laurent thinks, as much approval as he’s going to get from him, and he sighs, relieved. He lets his head drop against Damen’s shoulder, comforting himself in the warmth of Damen’s body.

He passes out.

*

Damen nor Auguste can be removed from Laurent’s bedside, no matter how hard the others try. Nikandros insists that Damen should make a statement – his brother _is_ dead, after all, and the kingdom will want to know why – and Aimée keeps telling Auguste he should eat something, rest. Auguste says no every time.

Both Laurent and Paschal are getting annoyed at their lingering, Damen can tell. Paschal already stated Laurent is going to be fine, that he just needs to rest, and the fact that Auguste and Damen are still there while he checks on Laurent’s wound is greatly annoying him.

Auguste is his king; he won’t tell him to leave. However, Laurent is his brother and has no kingly respect for neither Auguste nor Damen, so he kicks them both out and tells them to stop babying him.

Damen takes the time to eat a little, make an announcement of what transpired in the castle, and bathe. He’s walking to his chambers to try to sleep when a servant tells him that Prince Laurent has called for him. Damen doesn’t hesitate, running to Laurent as fast as he can, thinking it’s an emergency.

When he gets there, however, he’s met by Laurent’s adorable pout.

“I can’t sleep.” He complains. “Come hold me.”

Damen rolls his eyes fondly. “Laurent, the courting rules state that-”

“I’ve just been stabbed, Damianos,” Laurent rolls his eyes dramatically. “And I’m not asking you to bed me. I’m asking you to come _hold me_.”

Damen relents. He always relents when it comes to Laurent, because he loves seeing the content smile on his face. He slides onto the bed next to Laurent, pressing his chest against Laurent’s back and wrapping his arms around him. Laurent is tiny, compared to him, and like this, in his arms, he looks completely engulfed by Damen.

_It’s better this way_ , Damen thinks, the exhaustion of the past day and a half crashing onto him. _I’ll protect him like this._

*

“Will you visit?” Laurent asks, arms around Damen’s neck.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Damen says, rubbing small, soothing circles on Laurent’s hips. He’s, once again, laced into tight Veretian clothing, and Damen wants to rip at the laces. He doesn’t. “And I’ll write.”

Laurent nods, looking hesitantly at his horse. Aimée, Auguste, the guards, and Paschal are all ready to go, and when Laurent gets on that horse, they’ll ride away. Damen tries to ignore the ache in his chest at the thought of not seeing Laurent every day.

“You better,” Laurent says. He pulls away, and tips his head graciously. “Exalted.”

Damen’s cheeks heat, and he shakes his head lightly at his lover, grinning.

“You’re incorrigible,” he says. He pulls Laurent close and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “Goodbye, lover.”

“Until I see you again,” Laurent murmurs. He pulls away and presses two kisses to Jokaste’s cheeks – she’s only been part of Damen’s council for two days, but she’s already done more than a _lot_ of men who’ve held their position in the council for years – and she hugs him. Damen doesn’t entirely understand their friendship, but he’s above questioning either of them.

“Nikandros,” Laurent says.

“Laurent.” Nikandros says, with barely disguised dislike. Damen hides a laugh behind a cough.

He watches as Laurent mounts his horse, and then as they ride away until they’re no longer visible.

“Finally,” Nikandros breathes.

Jokaste pinches his arm, and Nikandros yelps, glaring at her.

Damen laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @mfingenius :D


End file.
